i still add myself up
against the girls I
don't know, who
have found their
places in your life
and bear your vices
against their skin
who probably
love you better
than I

did.

i wish i could
bare my faith
like the weak

this is such a soft loneliness
like a kindred spirit, heavy
and without doubt, she hangs
tears from her eyelashes, pairs
of glass ornaments and plants
tall cedars in the valves of her
heart that grow up the walls
and bloom in her throat, through
the whispers, how and why
how and why
how and why

of the mountain peaks and
lofty wave crests, even in the
troughs you rest, for the stars
find  y o u  in the deepest pits
where you come to lay my parts
to bed and the pines they bend in
your  w a k e  like blades of grass
beneath my feet, so should the
salt settle in oceans deep
just so they could meet
your lips,  then would
my thoughts gather in
a heap, a group of
injury, fresh and
raw, find me
find me
find me.

i buy the
affection
I  w a n t

the hydrangeas found your
face through the crack in the
sliding door, during the early
morning before our bodies
decided to sweat off the night
and the fan blew cool air up
the lilt of our shoulders
that rolled and pressed
like pistons--I forget what
we spoke about.

but i felt your skin beneath
my thighs and begged for just
one picture of you, like this
all day-old and dewy and beautiful
with the morning shining out of your
chest, aglow and gentle, just one picture
of you, like this,  just one picture of you

*like this

I'm always loving myself off

a precipice, hanging from the
c r a g s  by branch and string
wet down by s  e  a  and dried
by salt, the  w  a  l  k  here was
long in the tall grass that has no
trail where the  wind whets the
bluffs and steals my hair from its
hood so that I am my own maelstrom
a shred of black off the cliffs, incised
into the gray like my body is only an
o  p  e  n  i  n  g but from far off i am
just a whistle against the headlands,
sea foam and pine needles or
the grains of sand that
never settle.

sometimes, when you're not
trying to save the world or
build empires out of the
mortar hatred your father
planted inside your chest
like a factory that chews
and spits and bellows
when you're not breathing
fire and dust and business
you're a little bit human
and it's nice when we
both settle into the bony
seats at the Skyline theater
when our heads fall to
the same side and
the world smells
like buttered
popcorn, fresh
laundry and
comfort.

I DON'T DRAW ANYMORE
BECAUSE I DON'T FEEL IT
IN MY BONES, I DON'T
LAUGH MUCH ON MY
OWN BECAUSE THERE'S
NOTHING IN MY STOMACH
I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M
RELYING ON TO KEEP
ME GOING, I'M JUST
GOING, GOING, GOING.

it's easy to stitch me up
but the truth is i'm still
popping at the seams
and this happiness is
a little makeshift, with
crafted motivation, i've
all but glued the glitter
on and i have to keep
reminding myself
that I no longer
get graded on
participation
this is all or
n o t h i n g

had a dream they were
telling me to wake up,
had a dream they told
me i never talk to god
shoving vouchers in
my face to bar me
against the window
yes, i do. I do talk
to him. I do.
so where is he?
where is he?
where is he,
brooke?
and I
was
screaming
*I don't know
I don't know
i don't know
where he is,
I don't know.

they say write out an sos
in the snow behind my house
got this livin' on the 411, what's
you're 20? I'm asking everyone
and i'm trying to get better at
cursive, I want to flow from
wave to wave but i'm getting
thrown round, rock to rock
it didn't matter anyway.
could have told me
to stop cursin' because i'm
dropping Jesus Christs like
no yesterday, Jesus Christ
where were you today? I'm
drowning in self-hatred, finding
grief is mashed potatoes, pinching
skin between these fingers, where's
this wealth in ****** freedom, just love
yourself, to love is to be loved, well
i insult myself to the point of no return
point fingers in the mirror, love. shaking
heads and sleeping sideways because i feel
the weight of skin i'm stuck inside of, a face
only a mother could love, barred behind words
from kids no longer in or of,
my life, god could it get much worse
i can't find solace in the things that used to work
painting pictures no longer soothes the pain, fields
of grass no longer hide your name, i'm lost in the
plains of isaiah, wandering the sand of achor, so
this is a door of hope? are you telling me to walk
onward? but this soul is distressed and these thighs
are worn, can't go a day without calling myself out
straight to the flaws i go in headfirst, lost all my
friends, self-esteem and sense of self-worth,
confidence is an concept i've only every dreamed of
so my mom keeps asking what I want for my birthday
and I say, happiness, a purpose, and a way home
happiness, a purpose, and a way home
happiness, a purpose, and a way home

I'd like to
think that
my smile
unbuttons
your pride
because you
sure unzip
mine.

loving you is being naked
except  m y  transgressions
are written into the sinews
in my muscle, braided into
my hair and mingling with
my blood. For that, loving
you is a vacuum, loving
you is a room filled with
widening spaces until I
am nothing more than
a wick burning from
both                   ends,
l o v i n g   y o u
is a tragedy in parts,
alone in a wheat field,
alone in a school hall
alone in a coffee shop
loving you is being
alone.

he's using me as a new year's
r e s o l u t i o n  probably to
be kinder or apologize more
there's little reason to calling
me up but I let people back in
so easily  p r o b a b l y  to be
kinder or apologize more
maybe because I just want
to be loved and I'm letting
all the wrong people love

me

this is a q u i e t type
of living, I want to get
lost in this sweater or
sink in these shoes,
sometimes I wish
I would drown
in cups of water
or burn up against
the wick of a candle
i've been setting three
alarms to be up before
the sun and it's working
out pretty well but I no
longer find solace in
paints or peace in
lead pencils
the things I
love are made
of rice paper and
dissolve under the
weight of words
and bowls of
honey nut
cheerios
I am at a loss
filled with sighs
filled with sighs
filled with sighs

my mom began a disconnect
and stopped entertaining my
depressed notions,  I want to
tear the newspaper in front
of her and tell her she will
never understand, buffer
this thought by receding,
folding myself into 1,000
paper cranes for a wish
finding a new life under
the duvet, searching the
skies for shooting stars
but it's been cloudy all
year
long.

2014 started with
Brett's car breaking
down on I-25, 45 minutes
before new years, and me,
giving the bird to everyone
on the shoulder of the exit
ramp, mad that Joe ditched
us to smoke, (but we didn't
know you'd be so hurt)
(I almost kissed you)
(then told you)
and April was barely
a thought, February a
single sentence, a moment
of silence for the love I still
had for you drowned in 8oz
of milk and espresso
straight into October,
November, December
there's still no tree but
this house couldn't
feel any less empty
nobody notices but
I've tied my anchors
to the construct of
time and we're
weighed in at
6pm, stopped
the clock like
a Havisham
where do I
begin, where
do I begin?

heads up in
the suburbs
we have the
winning sense
of self control
but get lost in
cups of dark
roast or tall
americanos
with drops
of smoke
and half
n' half

Biophotonics.

The study of living things
emitting light. Every few
months I take a salt scrub
to my skin and will myself
to believe that beneath all
the blood vessels I have to
be something m o r e  and
studies suggest that I can
be. That with an intensity
1/1000 w e a k e r than the
sensitivity of the human
eyes, I am glowing. Like
a jellyfish, someone
said.  So for a moment
I saw myself deep in
between the different
waters where the
u n d i s c o v e r e d
sleep and hide and feel
the floors that no one has
seen, a light so faint in the
ocean so black that you could
see me from miles, miles, miles
out.

sometimes i
can love my
body from
t w e n t y
feet away

inside there was a
spat b e t w e e n my
bones, a wrenching
in all the sockets
every single
curl in my
brain was unfurling
but all I could do was
pinch the calluses on
my palm with a calm
ferocity, he does not
want me to c o n d e m n
myself but i was already
******* in, concave and
ready to collapse.

my mom tells me to
be encouraged and I
want to pry my ribs
apart and show her
my whitewashed
insides, how someone
went and took a matte
finish to my skin, I want
to show her the average
diary entry from 9:05 pm
and how I've stopped signing
my name because these letters
never get to God, I want her to
sit in on my conferences with
the empty chairs at work and
listen in on all the phone calls
I don't take, expect my showers
to be two hours long when really
i'm just filling the bathtub over
and over and      over and  
            over                  over
over



over

i a m
s    o
scared

I won't take you in
i'm unwild, unwild
wouldn't wind my
way though all of
your knots, my
pages are dog-eared
unalphabetized, uncapitalized
you can't hide behind that, no
curtains, big windows, small
door, free but contained, uncorked
but restrained, tied my hair down
for sails, a single breath could
******* away.  won't build
monuments in your name
or dress your letters in
gold trim, i've
idolized too
many men.




but i
could
love
you.

i said my face is so round

and a little voice murmured
but so is the sun and moon
the flowers that face the sky,
all the planets that sit heavily
on starry thrones, have you
seen the earth? a l l   f  u  l  l
things inherit the land,  you
could plant gardens on your
jawline and hide n a t i o n s
under your cheekbones,why,
it wouldn't be presumptuous
to say the wounded could be
cradled in the dip of your chin


all good things are *round

no, I'm not
l o o k i n g
not a single
peep, eye or
                                                     o u t s t r e t c h e d
hand, but I
do imagine
the crook of
your elbow
and a dozen
steel lanterns
hung from your
branches, strings
of cream colored
Christmas lights
framing your
shoulders
swung
around
your feet
and each
step you
take that
brings
you

clo        ser
to
me

88 by Lo-Fang is on repeat
the live version at WFUV
and I'm not listening as
much as I am wondering
how much water my body
d    i    s   p   l    a    c    e    s
displaces? a couple weeks
ago I tried to tell my mom
she was not her body and
that there was not a single
thing more beautiful than
a soul in waiting or a soul
on pause, a soul like hers
but don't source me
i can't even believe
myself let alone
that something
so beautiful
could be
me.

i don't
k n o w
how to
rely on
anyone
b   u   t
myself.

this should
f e e l  l e s s
f  o  r  c  e  d*
you should
feel more
right
.

between psalm 1 & 2
I asked you what it was
like to confess without
a proper priest because
confessing to yourself
was more like admitting
and admitting was usually
an internal affair, something
that could be done without
much shame, after all, you
                                     could hear my thoughts,                          right?
well, I'm not entirely
sure that's all true
but I got down on
all fours with my arms
stretched as far as they
could go, head practically
between my knees and would
you believe, (You Would) that
I started to cry? Because, would
you believe, (You Would) that
for a moment you were there
with your toes at my finger-
tips.

people are not
to be saved and
they say girls are
best wild and free
or wild and reckless
but I was always the
cabin with an open
door, an inviting
bed, a warm
hearth, I
stayed
put and
did my life
by the books
still wanted to
s a v e y o u f r o m
something, yourself?
other people? the world?
I see pictures of you and
feel a sense of failure,
or loss or grief or
frustration but
you were
never mine to
save, never a thing
to be saved, never wanted
to be saved, never asked to be
saved and letting you go was akin
to releasing the leash on wild, wild beast.

i turned off the
fan in my room
because summer
is over and the
silence was
deafening
every click
and whir every
noise my body made
could be heard and
there you were at
11:56 in the
middle of a dream
there you were, whispering
to me

I claimed you in severity
in illegitimacy
how could I ever forget
that you were my father
before anyone else
I am lost and
you are the
only one
who can
find
me.

telling you I loved you
was with each hair on
my head, one at a time
when your hands picked
them up on edge with all
of your static electricity
and saying it sounded
like a rush of water from
the creeks below Snoqualmie
or the heavy winds through
the pines, so I traced the
sounds out on your
shoulders and ate
each letter so I
could press them
to your ears, spelled
out the shapes and made
a home for you in between
my collar bones, a cabin on
top of my lungs with the
lights always on, from
out on the plains you
could see it, the books
on the shelves read


I love you.

there is an aimless sense of
wandering, a trip on an empty
train, floor awash with foot prints
streaked under the seats and here
I am clinging to the handrails, but
like a dream the corners of my vision
are fuzzy and I fight to be unaware
and somewhere from the end of
the car, horses stamp their
hooves, all lined up
behind red stanchions
they aren't bulls but they
breathe like I am red, and
somehow this is all curiously
distant, sauf pour the speed of
the train, the only thing that is
unnerving is the ways in which
I move and blink and how i am
made up of seven billion billion
billion atoms but this number
seems so inconsequential and
small compared to how lost
I feel and how many times
a day I ask myself what
I am doing.


What am I doing?

Hey. Listen.


Can you hear me breathing?
my thoughts are in piano notes
I'm thinking up a symphony of
you. It snowed yesterday and
I wondered where you were---
not in any needy kind of
way, just a curious kind of
way. Can you hear me breathing?
it sounds dense and collected, my
bike spokes click in time with your
watch because there could be years
between us but there could also be
days or hours. If you would believe
it, I can feel you on windy days
when your readiness is something
to be desired. But so much of the same
can be said for me, s o  m u c h  o f  t h e  s a m e
because maybe it was never me waiting on you


but y o u waiting on me.

you eat a lot of cucumbers.


at first you only slice them,
but then you're cutting them
in half, in quarters. You eat
them with carrots, no carrots,
with lemon pepper and salt.
You eat them in your room
with hot tea boiled to 150
degrees, in the kitchen
at the counter staring
out the window, at
the dining table
at the patterns
on the hard-
wood floor.
Is that real wood?
It could be. That doesn't
really matter. You put too
much salt on these. And
sometimes in the tub
you crouch down
and study the
curtains with
an unbridled
amount of curiosity
because you need to be
deep about at least something
but mostly you just realize that
your legs are bruised and your
cuticles sting because you bite
them so often. This water could be hotter.



This water could be hotter.

the cold came
upon us gently
a hand to sweep
away the summer
and we cleared the
table willingly so
the wood could
reach mahogany
we are all lit up
in candlelight
with lips as
soft and red
as cherries
so smooth
you want
to kiss the
first person
who calls you



beautiful.

sleep against my thigh
my skin is made of steel
so you melt the edges
with your breath,
draw figures in the grey
like windows in the cold,
you huff, puff and the frost
is gone, your hands burn
imprints on my waist and
crack my hips that are made
of glass, a fracture line that
carries up my chest, an
earthquake that shifts
through my bones, that
haunts me when you're not
at home, so come home,
come home,

come home.

like a
w h i s p e r
I'm sinking
into my shoes
because my
footsteps are
deeper than
they look
my heels
burrow
into ocean
trenches
I am my
own fissure
bubbling between
the volcanic rock
an orange scar
at the edge of
the Nazca plate
I can't decide if
I want to close
my jaws or
reach for
the surface.

in the empty hallway where
the wood falls in line with my
heels and the sunbeams are warm
across the grain, full-steam into
my toes, that sink beneath the
floorboards and root into
the foundation where
plant muck takes
residence between
my veins, it's chilly
in this house but
most of me is still on
top and the dust bends
lights off the windows
is stained on the wall
and somewhere from
the kitchen the smell
of cider wraps around
my calves.

I think of you
and cigarette
smoke fills
my room
through
the carpet
the painting of
me is burning in
the garage and seeps
through the floors, you
wander the hallways and
knock on doors, you were
the biggest liar I didn't ever
know, ever didn't know, liar
biggest liar I ever knew but
didn't know was standing
right in front of me.

let me
be kind
to myself
because
this has
been a
year of
hating
myself.

robert slept in the back
enveloped in fresh cigarette
with his green sweater hung
over his face and in the front
where we smelled like lotion
and pumpkin hand sanitizer
we tried the lullabies that
were soaked in old lovers
and you invited me over
for dinner, it's so easy
to say that God has
sent me no one
so even if you
do move back
to New York, I
will be able to say
that yes, I made a friend
all on my own and found
that it is so easy to laugh, that
I can be easy to love.

you're the first honest
thing I've had in a while
and I'm keeping myself
at bay because i've been
known to swim too fast
or never get cold, i'm
calling you Michigan
in my head because
I like the way it
comes off my
heart, my apologies
are real, I just don't know
how to act, I've gotten too
good at having tact, because
my silence goes up as walls and
I'm sure we could be friends, but

but

I've been known for swimming too
fast or never getting cold, never getting
cold, never getting

cold.

I've asked so
many times for
you to put a godsend
on a train, ignited with
a passion for discovery
on wheels that sing my
name, you remember,
don't you? Instead,
should I have requested
a send God? Is it not
enough to act under the
assumption that I don't
even need the train,
that sometimes I hear
your voice in my sleep
but people always say
it's the thought that
counts, right?

my dad took to the yard
with a vengeance, tearing
into the bramble, imbued
with a great autumn anger
schhhtt, schhhhtt, schhting
across the sidewalk in a fury
not unlike Samuel hacking
Agag to pieces in the 6 pm
blush, still 70 out, too warm
for fall, I watched with a
heaviness, the pungent
smell of unearthed pine
and wet leaves leaving
a starchiness to the
air as he continued
to gather the brush in
bags, with my thoughts,
with my thoughts,
with my thoughts.

I've always been
afraid to say I'm
not in love as if
without it I am less
as if I am missing
something crucial
and I have often
been weary of
saying it aloud
in hopes that
you might
come back
but we aren't
ever going to
be together,
are we, Chris?
that is why



I don't love you anymore.

in Nordstroms at the Cherry Creek Mall
in Denver, I tried on a gold dress that didn't
fit around my hips (but not many things do,
including your arms or your eyes or your
honesty) and the dressing room attendant
didn't bother to knock before unlocking the
door to tell me that this particular room
wasn't for me, and her eyes, particularly
her boho hat, made me feel like slime,
like a wet body bag, like a sweaty
creature that crawled out from
beneath the hot stones in canon
city and I eagerly shuffled out of
the hall with the gold dress that didn't
fit around my hips (because nothing does)
and the for the rest of the day I saw myself
fitting my skin over inanimate objects and wishing
I could be beautiful.